


How It Began

by siennavie



Series: More Than Team 'Verse [9]
Category: Flashpoint (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Multi, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siennavie/pseuds/siennavie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life after the SRU for Greg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How It Began

**Author's Note:**

> I was hoping to get one of my long-languishing WIPs done in time for Valentine's Day and International Fanworks Day, but it's probably obvious I can't write to a schedule (Not for lack of trying. My inner critic is a grinch). So happy belated Valentine's to you and the boys :)
> 
> Just a reminder that this is set in my universe in which Ed is divorced, Sam/Jules and Spike/Winnie were never a thing, and Wordy remains on the team.

Greg Parker is a man of action, although his reputation with words often precedes him. When a leg injury forces him from the field, he doesn't think twice about signing his name to the dotted line: Greg Parker, Head Instructor, Toronto Police College. It's how he'll keep on going, helping people, saving lives; how he'll continue helping his team keep the peace. 

And yes, they – Ed, Sam, Jules, Spike, Wordy – would always be _his_ team. His family. He knows they think the same; when Team One's annual summer potluck rolls around, he gets calls from Jules and Wordy checking that he knows the date-time-place and that, yes, he and Marina will be there. 

He makes the promise face-to-face with Ed, Spike, and Sam. Those three he sees more often; once a week at least. They schedule meetups around Team One's shifts since Greg's schedule is mostly cut and dry. Greg typically plays host. His place is centrally located and he has more time to cook and clean, he reasons with them. And while that's all true, the profiler in him is perfectly aware that his motivation runs deeper; that it satisfies a profound need to take care of his team. Especially when they arrive looking weary and beaten down from a grueling shift; when they turn up with new wounds and scars, not all written on their skin. He sees it plainly in their eyes, the slump of their shoulders, the bend of their spine. Those days, they don't talk about it. He knows without them telling. 

On good days, they smile and laugh over a fulfilling meal and an entertaining game on TV. He learns of the latest in locker room pranks and spectacular takedowns. Ed, Sam, and Spike practically talk over each other in their eagerness to share. For his part, Greg offers anecdotes from the classroom. Which leads to them reliving their own training days. Some stories Greg has heard before, but some are new and give him valuable glimpses into his friends' pasts. Now and then, they chat about everything under the sun until said sun has long past set and they're all collapsed on his couch or in his guest bed. He drapes a blanket over Ed, nudges a pillow under Spike's head, and pulls the blanket over Sam's feet before checking the locks, turning off the lights, and heading to his own bed.

They never miss a date; not if it's under their control. Rescheduling usually means "the very next day." He knows it's a problem when he starts planning dates with Marina around dates with the boys. And Marina agrees, because she gives him a sad smile one day, kisses his cheek, walks out the door and doesn't return. It doesn't bother Greg as much as it should.

Ed, Sam, and Spike are sympathetic. He tells them honestly that he's okay. They study his face for a long moment before picking up their beers and welcoming him back to bachelorhood. The next time they meet, they bring more than enough food and drinks to fill four men and his refrigerator. They show up three times that week to help him finish it off.

It's at the end of the third night that things take an unexpected turn. Ed is helping him clear empty bottles from the table to take to the bin, while Sam and Spike are tussling for the remote on the couch. He doesn't see what happens next. He only hears Sam and Spike shouting and laughing one moment and complete silence the next. After a few beats, Greg looks over from the kitchen, just to make sure they're alright. The back of the couch obscures most of his view. He can see half of Sam, sitting up, which is a good sign. Except that Sam looks oddly frozen and dazed. But just as he's thinking that, Sam springs to his feet and darts out the room. Spike's head and shoulders pop up from the couch a moment later. Then, he's on his feet and hurrying after Sam.

Greg turns to Ed, but Ed looks just as confused. They drop the bottles and follow after their friends, hearing them before they see them. Thudding. "Sam? _Sam._ It's okay." Heavy thudding. "You can't hide from me, Sam. Not forever."

Spike is standing in front of the guest bathroom, glaring at the closed door. The door swings open and Sam appears, a determined look on his face. "You're right," he says. Then he drives Spike up against the far wall, grabs Spike's face and kisses him. And Spike is kissing back—fierce and desperate and single-minded. Both unaware or uncaring that he and Ed are standing just a few feet away, eyes bulging and jaws on the floor. 

It's insane, shocking...and incredibly hot. It takes Greg an inappropriately long time to gather his wits. More before he thinks to make a noise announcing their presence. Sam and Spike spring apart so quickly that Sam trips over his feet and Spike's skull thuds against the wall.

The situation is rather comical. Yet Ed, normally quick to tease, is surprisingly slack-jawed and silent beside him. Greg thinks the nice thing to do would be to walk away and offer some privacy. But he can't tear his eyes away from the scene; from Spike's heaving chest, flushed cheeks and shiny, swollen lips. When he finally lifts his gaze, he finds Spike watching him, a thoughtful expression on his face. Greg suddenly feels like he's the one under the microscope, the one who had just been caught doing some dirty deed. Spike licks his lips. Greg frowns and Spike quickly looks away. But not before Greg sees a flash of doubt. _Oh_. Greg hadn't meant it that way—

He moves forward without thought. Spike watches him approach with a guarded look in his eyes. What Greg's about to do might be monumentally stupid, might be the start of ruining the best friendships he's ever had. He doesn't even have alcohol to blame. But screw it. 

He reaches up slowly, gives time for Spike to move away. But Spike leans into his hand—the guarded look melting away—and lets Greg guide him until their lips meet. 

And, _Oh_. He's missed this—the adrenaline rush from head to toe, the pounding of his heart in his ears. Rushing headlong into the unknown, not knowing what to expect, when every day was never the same except for his team at his back, plunging forward with him, for better or worse. 

Spike's mouth is soft and eager, moving almost reverently beneath his. And what had seemed like a risk at first now seems anything but. It's obvious that what they have isn't sudden or new. That this wasn't impulse, but inevitability. That revelation is as comforting as it is intimidating. And Greg, after years of practice, can't help but think of how this could still go wrong...before thinking how this is already oh so right. He pulls Spike closer, plunges forward and doesn't look back.


End file.
